The Beast and the Hunter
by DuchessRaven
Summary: Before she departs on what was to be her last mission, Rip finds herself in the company of the silent Captain. RipxCaptain. Oneshot.


AUTHOR'S NOTE: this story was inspired while reading the fifth volume of the manga, when the Battalion was saluting Rip as Alucard tortured and killed her. There was a brief shot of the Captain, and he just looked very, very upset.

Enjoy & Review!

THE BEAST AND THE HUNTER

She wanted to wear the swastika.

It was her favorite, and there wasn't really a more fitting day for her. Not in her opinion. This was going to be her day. It was going to be her debut. After nearly six decades of waiting, it was finally going to be her turn. She had never had the chance to enter a real stage, or perform for doting parents like most little girls got to do, which made it all the more exciting. The Last Battalion was her family, and the Major the only parent she had ever known.

Rip Van Winkle slipped the swastika around her neck. It was made of platinum, hanging from a silvery metal chain. Not real silver, of course, but still shone like it. Like silver, like the moon. She had always found it ironic that those two things shared the same light when their effects on nightwalkers like herself are so different.

It felt crooked. She adjusted it. The chain was too long. The swastika glistened against her pale, smooth belly instead of her breast. She didn't mind. Somehow it added to the charm.

Next, what to wear…

At the base, inside her little room, there were only so many outfits available to her. She glanced at her closet as she stood before the only mirror she owned, brushing her long, midnight-black hair. There was a time when she wore it in two long braids, but she had given that look up. After all, it made her look like a child, and children do not wear the rank of Lieutenant. That was what she was now.

"Lieutenant," she muttered to herself, as if tasting the sweetness of the word. "First lieutenant."

Night was approaching. Very soon it will be time to leave. Perhaps too soon. She wanted to savor the feeling of anticipation. Those cheap, moronic vampires on the ship can wait. Killing them a minute sooner or later wouldn't make a difference. Foolish humans, the lot of them, who thought they could attain immortality by selling out each other, who made the mistake of thinking they were important. They were gnats.

She began to hum as she continued to brush her hair. Against the wall, leaning like a silent, faithful companion, was her musket. If it had a spirit, Rip was sure, it would also be excited at this moment.

And speaking of silent and faithful…

"If you're going to spy on me," she said, tossing the brush aside and running a finger over the impossible curl extending from her forehead, "you might as well come in."

There was no movement, nor sound for a long moment. For a second she thought she had made a mistake. After all, she couldn't see very well without her glasses. But after retrieving them from the dresser, she saw that she was indeed correct. Standing shrouded in the shadows just outside her door, stood the ever-watchful Captain. She gestured for him to come in, and scoffed when he hesitated.

"Just come in," she said. "It's a big day. I might as well get a second opinion on what to wear, even if it's from a mute like you."

He stepped inside. Only one step. He put one foot over the threshold of the door, brought the other foot even with it, and stopped. As usual, she could barely see his face, hidden both by his high coat collar and cap. But his eyes were clear and bright, the eyes of an animal in waiting.

"Did you want something?" she asked, and turned back to the mirror. There wasn't really an answer to be expected. The Captain had never spoken in the entire time she'd known him. Rumor had it that he was capable of it, though she seriously doubted it. "Or are you just here to see the show?"

It was a tease. She wasn't sure if he got it. Were he a normal man, she wouldn't doubt that he was enjoying the view. Rip had never fancied herself beautiful. Only foolish girls fancied such things. But she was a woman nonetheless. At the moment she stood with her back to him, clad in nothing but worn pajama pants and brassier. Her skin was smooth and her hair, by any standards of human or vampire, was heavenly. Her curves were not the sort to grace a magazine cover or television screen, nor did she desire such things, but she was certain she could turn a few heads if given the chance.

At the very least, she always thought herself to be much more lovely than the heavily-tattooed Zorin Blitz.

The Captain said nothing. Nor did he move. Rip sighed to herself. He was not human. Not that she could claim that status for herself, but he was even devoid of the slightest human emotion and fancy. Even though he was a living creature and she a dead one, she was pretty sure she felt and lived more than he did.

"Are you excited?" she asked him, and saw him nod ever so slightly in the mirror. "I can tell. If you were any more excited a funeral might start."

He didn't laugh. He never did. He just watched her as she leaned down and struggled out of her pajama pants. There was no indication whatsoever as to whether it excited him to see her in nothing but her undergarments.

She went to the closet and picked a fitting black suit. He watched. She held it out in front of her and turned to him. "What do you think?" she asked playfully.

He made no sound.

"Yes? No?"

He made a slight movement that might have been a nod of agreement or a gesture of confusion. She stuck her tongue out at him.

"You are no help at all."

He shrugged. Very slightly.

Giving up, she got dressed in silence. Buttoning up the suit jacket, she looked herself over in the mirror again. Not bad. The swastika was tucked inside underneath her blouse, which was how she usually worn it whenever something big was about to happen—close to her heart, even though it no longer beats.

Something foreign touched her neck, startling her enough to reach for the musket. But she quickly stopped herself when she realized it was the Captain's hand. He moved so quickly and silently that she hadn't even noticed him come up behind her. His gloved finger caressed her neck and she almost began to blush as it touched the chain.

Gently, he lifted the swastika out through her collar and let it drop in front of her, pale silver contrasting sharply against the black of her clothing. Then he stepped back, and gave a very shallow bow, or perhaps it was a deep nod. She understood.

_Forgive me. But it looks better this way_.

His hand was surprisingly warm. She could feel it, even through his glove. She nodded.

"All right," she said. "I'll wear it on the outside. If you think it looks better."

He shrugged a bit. She rolled her eyes.

"Don't you ever do more than that?" she asked bitingly, perhaps to see if she could get a rise out of him. "You could've said something, just like you could've said something, or at least knocked when you wanted to come in. Don't you do anything but stand there like a statue?"

Nothing. He simply watched her. Rip sighed and went to the window. The sky was burning with the ever-so-lovely fire of dusk.

"It's a big day," she said, mesmerized by the golden sky. "And it's going to be a beautiful night. Can you not feel it?"

This time he nodded, and she smiled at him. It was a real smile, ones reserved only for the Major on most days, and occasionally for herself on quiet nights filled with unheard bloodshed.

"It makes me want to dance," she said. "It makes me want to sing. Sometimes that bothers me because they seem like such human urges, and I am not a human. I am no longer desperate and low like them."

He did not agree or disagree.

She pushed herself away from the window, and for a moment seemed unsure of what to do. Then she turned to him, winked, and spun in a surprisingly graceful circle, like a ballerina without a stage.

But she will have her stage tonight, and she's going to perform for the world to see.

He raised a questioning eyebrow, a reaction very rarely seen as he was very rarely caught in surprise. Rip suddenly felt embarrassed.

"When I was human…" she murmured in a low voice, avoiding his gaze, "I used to dance."

There were still questions in his eyes. She could guess what they were.

"I didn't dance for anyone, or anything. Just… for myself. Sometimes for money. It felt more dignified to sell art than body, even if it's by a dirty road."

The Captain tilted his head. It was another question.

She shrugged and reached for her musket, slinging it over her shoulder. It was almost time and she didn't feel like carrying on further conversation, not about this. Damn that Captain… what was it about him that made her spill, even when he wasn't speaking a single word?

But he was still watching with those inquiring eyes.

"Yes, I'm a hunter," she said matter-of-factly. "But how different is a killing field from a stage really? We all do our dance, the only difference is some of us may not get to perform at the next opening."

With that, she walked past him, the musket on her shoulder and the music of war in her heart.

"Careful."

She stopped. "What?"

He was looked at her, looking down because he was so much taller. There was a different look in his eyes than usual. But she knew that look. It was the same look he'd given her nearly every day for the past fifty-odd years. The same look he gave her every time he came into her room, just to watch her change in silence. It was the same look that kept her going, kept her hoping through the darker times.

"Be. Care. Ful." He said slowly, forcing out each syllable as if it caused him pain. It was the voice of one who had let his vocal cords fall to disuse, deep yet soft, rich yet devoid of ease. "Rip."

She shook her head, that same smile on her face, the same smile she used to give him whenever he returned from a fight unharmed.

"I will," she said. "I've waited for over fifty years for this. Perhaps after tonight, things will really change. The world really will run the way we want it to." She took a step closer to him and laid her musket against the wall. "Other things may change, too."

She wrapped her arms around him and pressed her body against him. He didn't return it. That wasn't his style. But he did not pull away either, and for a moment her cold cheek was against his chest and she could hear his heart beat just a little quicker, his wolf's heart, a hunter's heart like her own.

Then she let go, and the musket was once more in her hand.

"That was a lover's embrace," she said. "When I come back, maybe we can do the rest."

He watched her go, black hair swaying in her wake, humming the songs of war. Later, as he watched the demon Alucard tear into her, as her blood flowed out of her body and into oblivion, he would remember her words, and the coolness of her touch, and her smile. Her real smile.

And he would make a silent vow, not in so many words but in a collage of pictures and emotions in his mind as the officers of the Last Battalion saluted "good-bye" to their First Lieutenant, to take him down, to take down the vampire who robbed him of what was rightfully his and strangle him to death with his bare hands.


End file.
